


pacing

by sakon



Category: Ayatsuri Sakon | Puppet Master Sakon
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23941222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakon/pseuds/sakon
Summary: Sakon touches Zenkichi's scars, and Zenkichi touches Sakon's in return.
Relationships: Tachibana Sakon/Fujita Zenkichi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	pacing

How they exactly got there he isn't quite sure, but Sakon's without Ukon and is somehow being bold. He's not sure how to cope with Sakon being mischievous once. Mischievous or exploring— more exploring— he isn't sure which one.

Sakon's hands roam his back, delicate nails tracing across an expanse of puffy scars. Being knocked off his motorcycle didn't leave him untouched after all, and Sakon can feel in beneath the pads of his fingers.

He pauses at a cluster of scars.

"Ayano-san?" His fingers curved around his back, cold and comforting, "Or.." He trails off, hesitant at the guess. His eyes know the contours of his face and the way the scars sit pale against his tan skin, but he's never touched beyond his shirt. 

"Yeah," He pauses, "It hurt like hell,"

Getting his answer, he can feel the pressure return to his back once more.

He doesn't know how long Sakon will be comfortable doing this, not without Ukon, so he freezes. His limbs don't move, his chest hardly pumps, and it's a little hard, but Sakon's hand roam further, so he continues unmoving. 

Sakon isn't delicate, but he's shy without Ukon, even still. He might forever be shy without the puppet, but it isn't really something he minds. He can't control it either, and Zenkichi finds himself confused on the approach to everything, but somehow things work.

Sakon _isn't_ delicate (He doesn't need to tell himself it, but he reiterates the thought regardless.), but he isn't going to treat him brashly. He's a little soft, and he begets a different nature from Zenkichi. It's in contrast with his normal behavior— loud, brash, and forward, and Ukon's made sure to let him know the stark contrast and to test his patience with the fact. 

He makes him want to quell his voice and prostrate himself to kiss his hand, but other times he wants to scream his name into the wind and spin him in his arms.

But now, he just wants the first. Even one touch would be enough.

And when Sakon's hands freeze, he feels daring enough to indulge. He turns around to meet his eyes. There's a calm to him, an apprehension swimming in the deep of his eyes, but Sakon doesn't back up. 

Zenkichi reaches up and lets his hand dangle in the air, slowly drawing to the neckline of his yukata, hands pressing against the fabric. His hands are a little lower than his collarbone, but he can feel the way his chest shakes. His hand freezes.

"Can I?" It comes out low, hoarse and almost hesitant, even a little awkward at the end. It's like puberty all over again, except ten times worse. A strange feeling wells up in his chest, and he doesn't know whether it's nervousness or fondness, maybe a mixture of them both, but the feeling is both excruciating and amazing. The thought goes to the back of his mind before he thinks too hard on it.

Sakon stares at him, heat on his cheeks and composure somehow there. His hand aches to feel beyond the fabric, but he isn't particularly picky about when. He doesn't ache to defile him, more fingers aching for purchase and to touch his skin. He wants to touch him, to feel him breathe under his fingers, and to feel him. His hand is ready to pull away. 

Sakon steadies himself and pulls on his yukata, shrugging it off to show his bare skin. It's still tied, and it keeps anything that Sakon doesn't want to show from being exposed. It's bare, clean and pure. Zenkichi wants to hold onto his shoulder and feel it beneath his skin and do all the corny ideas that run through his head. 

Fingers wrap around his wrist, and Sakon drags the hand to the nick on his neck. It's small, but it's deep, and there's been obvious care in making sure it heals right— Or maybe Sakon knows more than letting nature do it's thing unlike him.

Sakon's heart thumps against his chest, the soft inhales and a sharp breath ghosting against his skin.

He breathes out. The hand drags him along, pressing his calloused fingers against a soft hummingbird heartbeat.

"You may,"


End file.
